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“Thanks.”He took the treat.“How I miss Camille’s French food.Apparently, she’s done with yacht life.”
Camille and the rest of the crew had gotten to safety in the Dominican Republic, thanks to Hunter.Declan had offered them a place to stay.Jermaine had taken a position as steward at the house, but Camille had returned to St.Kitts.Ivek got a job on another yacht, while Raphael had left them when they landed in the Dominican.
And somehow, Tyrone hadnotbeen shot after being thrown overboard.He’d found an abandoned dinghy and gotten to shore on his own.
Declan sent them all severance pay, although he doubted it would be enough to keep the nightmares away.He still woke with a start sometimes, Sergei growling in his head.
He hadn’t seen the man—or Teresa—since the Bahamas Royal Defense had taken them away, although Steinbeck said they’d been handed over to American officials for questioning.
“Yeah, well, you don’t have a yacht anymore, so I would guess that Camille would need to find a new job.”
“Ouch,” Declan said.
Doyle grinned.“Join the rest of us mere mortals.”He glanced at the courthouse-slash-police-station-slash-judicial-center.A weathered two-story white building with a crow’s nest, a bell tower, and the Mariposa flag fluttering in the breeze.
“It’s taking a while,” Declan said.
“Tia has to testify about Kemar’s involvement with Sebold‘s gang, just to clear up any lingering ideas about him trying to escape consequences by being adopted and moving to the US.”
“I thought the orphanage dropped all charges.”
“We did.But Kemar was so against being adopted—that wasn’t a secret.So we just need to make it clear that he’s had a change of heart.”Doyle bit into his johnnycake, took a sip of coffee.“Something about knowing you’re wanted just...well, he’s dropped the fake arrogance and is...confident, maybe.Or at peace.I don’t know.But he’s taking his soccer seriously.We’re going to miss him at the upcoming inter-island game.You coming to it?”
“We’ll see.You and Tia are doing a great job,” Declan said.
Doyle nodded.He’d finished off his cake and now considered his coffee.“Heard from Austen?”
Austen.
Declan still wanted to laugh every time he thought of her seeing his house in Boca.“It’s always go big or go home with you, isn’t it, Dec?”
Mo had put them down at the Boca airfield, and while Tate and Colt had gone to Miami harbor to check on theSanta Maria, Declan had taken Austen and Steinbeck to his place on the waterway.
“It’s hardly the biggest house on the block,” he’d said as they drove into the circular cobblestone driveway to the white modern-style home.Two stories, four garages, the place looked out onto an infinity pool and sat on the inland waterway, where a small boat rested on a lift in the canal.White travertine flooring throughout the house’s interior, with dark-brown trim, the place was clean and simple.“It only has five bedrooms.”
“Oh, I don’t know how you stand it,” Austen had said as she’d gotten out of the car.The evening had already cast itself across the sky in lavenders and reds.Towering palms had flanked the front door, flowers bursting with color at the base.
“I bought it for the land.An acre in this area is unheard of,” he said, feeling suddenly...Well, maybe he hadn’t needed such a large place.
She’d turned to him then, the sunset lighting her hair on fire.“It’s gorgeous, Dec.”Then she’d touched his arm, slid her hand into his.Smiled, her green eyes catching the sheen of dusk.
Yes, yes, it was.
He’d ordered in that first night, then taken her shopping the next day, and had finally gotten the call from Texas, a.k.a., Tate Marshall.
TheSanta Mariahad arrived and been unloaded and the obsidite delivered to the processing center.
He’d been standing on his covered porch, Austen lying by the pool, Steinbeck brooding somewhere nearby, and...
“I need this to be over,” he’d said quietly to Tate.“I need to have one life.No more secrets.”
A silence at the other end.Then, “I get that, Declan.I really do.But some things are simply bigger than what we want.”
Austen had looked up at Declan then and smiled, waved.
“I’m not lying to Austen anymore, about anything.”
A beat.